


The Trouble in Times Square Affair: Chapter 2

by alynwa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: The Trouble in Times Square Affair





	The Trouble in Times Square Affair: Chapter 2

After Officer Dawson and Agent Adams left the Eurovista Gourmet, Randall and Marjorie looked at each other and then, by silent agreement, he disengaged the timer for the exterior holiday lighting and turned them off along with the main interior lights while she got two glasses and opened a bottle of 1960 Chateau Greysac. She poured some in each glass and slid one in front of the seat her husband would occupy.

They had closed the shop after the two men had shown their IDs and explained why they were there. The only light in the store now was a small chandelier over the table where they now sat. Someone looking in wouldn’t be able to see them as they were hidden by a display case.

Randall took a long sip from his glass. “What are you thinking, Marj?”

“I’m thinking it’s not fair that it’s almost Christmas and I’m, that _we’re_ alive and Catherine isn’t. I’m thinking that it’s not fair that I wasn’t the one to kill the man who sliced her leg. I’m thinking that it’s not fair that these so – called law enforcement agents were unable to save her. I’m thinking that I want them to pay somehow.”

He nodded agreement as he reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. “I’m constantly amazed by how often we are on the same wavelength.” He looked around the store and sighed heavily. “All of this was Cathy’s inheritance; our legacy. It means nothing to me now without her. She’s gone, so what’s the point?” 

Marjorie swirled her wine as she thought. “I agree,” she said. “I have an idea; tell me if you think it’s crazy. I can’t help it, Randy, I feel like whoever the agents are who tried to rescue Cathy, didn’t try hard enough. What would you think of selling the shop and using the proceeds for a bounty on their heads?” 

“I don’t think it’s crazy, I mean, we’re not killers, but this time of year people aren’t buying businesses; they’re buying gifts for their children.” The tears stood in his eyes and he swiped at them quickly, but not so quickly that his wife didn’t see them.

Marjorie reached over to stroke his arm. “I know. You’re right. I’d already bought some jewelry for her.”

“Really? Can you return it? I have an idea.”

_A week later…_

“Honey! I’m home!”

Illya replied, “Very amusing, Napoleon; I am in the living room! I’m starving! I hope dinner does not take too long to prepare.”

“I brought Chinese home for dinner,” Napoleon called from the kitchen. “I’ll bring you a plate in a few minutes. Honestly, Illya, someone would think you hadn’t eaten in days! I left you a big bowl of soup. Why didn’t you eat it?”

“I _did_ eat it. How long do you think chicken noodle soup lasts me?”

“I apologize; I forgot to whom I was speaking,” Napoleon said as he placed a plate piled high with shrimp egg foo young, rice and two egg rolls on the snack table in front of the Russian along with packs of soy sauce, duck sauce and Chinese mustard. “There’s more in the kitchen beyond what I plan to eat, so you should be able to fill your stomach.”

After three days in Medical, Doctor Holtquist declared Illya well enough to recuperate at home with his partner taking care of him, which meant staying in Napoleon’s penthouse as the CEA refused to spend the night in Illya’s flat unless he was way too drunk to do anything else.

“I had an interesting meeting with the Old Man and Collier Adams today,” Napoleon said as he sat on the couch next to his partner and put his dinner on the coffee table. “Officer Dawson of NYPD’s Midtown South contacted Collier earlier today to say that Catherine Claiborne’s parents want to meet with us. As you know, law enforcement has UNCLE’s direct number, so when they couldn’t find it, they reached out to Officer Dawson to pass along their request.”

Illya swallowed his food and took a big swig of water from his glass. “I imagine they want to know about Catherine’s last moments, if their daughter said anything or if she suffered. That is understandable. What made the meeting interesting?”

“Collier doesn’t think it’s a good idea to meet with them. He told me that after he and the cop left the Claibornes, he reported to Waverly that he felt like they were grief-stricken, but also quite angry that their child hadn’t been saved. Collier feels like they’re looking for someone, us specifically, to blame.”

“Collier had just delivered devastating, shocking news to them. Of course, they were angry.”

Napoleon’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have to say, Partner, I’m a bit surprised by your attitude. Usually, you’re not the most trusting fellow around. Are you saying you _want_ to meet with them?”

The last forkful of food disappeared into the blond’s mouth. “I understand loss, Napoleon,” he said softly. “I know what it is like to be told that someone you love…I know what that is like. That is why I think we should consider it. Did Mr. Waverly have an opinion?”

“It’s our decision to make. You have a few more days before you can return to light duty, so you have time to think about what you want to do. I will say this: Collier said he wouldn’t go back to see them and he seems like a level – headed guy. If you want to go, we’ll go. If you don’t, we won’t. It’s just that simple to me.” He collected both their plates. “Want me to bring your vodka? I’m going to have a drink.”

Illya snorted. “What do you think?”

Napoleon chuckled as he fetched glasses, ice and vodka from the kitchen. When he returned to the living room, he got his bottle of single malt Scotch from the bar and rejoined his partner on the couch. They clinked their glasses together and then drank. “So. What are you getting me for Christmas?”

“What makes you think I was planning to buy you a gift?”

“I was a very good boy this year; why wouldn’t you buy me a gift?” he joked. Napoleon’s smile faded. “You really had me scared this time, Illya. Even Holtquist said it was a close call. I’m kidding, you don’t have to buy me anything; you being here is the best present I could ask for.”

Illya patted his partner’s shoulder. “The holiday season truly does make you a sentimental blockhead.” 


End file.
